Margaret’s face broke into a grin. “Oh, you don’t have to explain anything to us, dear. I just like teasing Johnny to get a rise out of him.”

Victoria exhaled as John slid an arm around her shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. “This is my mom’s idea of humor,” he said with a wry grin.

In truth, Victoria had expected a couple of women who mirrored her mother’s excessive prudishness. Instead, they were easygoing and jovial to their boy. She saw the resemblance between Sandra and the daughter in John’s office photo. They shared the same large soulful brown eyes which seemed to be filled with laughter. Despite the woman’s age, not very many lines creased her mahogany face. Sandra kept her hair short, pressed and curled, like most black women would at her age. Victoria imagined her making weekly visits at her local beauty parlor. John’s mother, Margaret, took a relaxed approach to her appearance, wearing an oversized gray sweater and flowing pants. John must have taken after his father because the woman’s fiery red hair and tawny eyes were a far cry from her Viking son’s looks. Her smile was playful as she looked from Victoria to John.

Regardless of how charming both the women were, Victoria had not exaggerated when she said she’d never find herself in this situation with her own mother. Katherine Reese could not stand joking, public displays of affection, or ladies behaving like anything other than ladies. Victoria’s face heated as her mind burned with the memory of what she and John had done on the couch. Sandra sat there, politely sipping her coffee in the same spot where she’d dry-humped her stepson. Jesus.

“Victoria,” Sandra said, leaning forward taking the black bra by the straps. To Victoria’s horror, the woman caressed the satin fabric with her thumbs. “Where did you find this? Maggie and I were going to do some shopping today and I had a mind to pick up some new brassieres.”

Victoria choked on her own spit as she watched Sandra fondle her underthings.

“Oh dear, is she okay?” Margaret asked sitting up.

“Fine,” she rasped through the coughing. “I got it at Victoria’s Secret.”

Admitting that was perhaps the single most embarrassing thing she ever done in her life. Beside her, John’s body shook with quiet laughter. “Of course,” he said in a low voice.

Margaret peered closely at the garment. “Trish, down at the church, said that Victoria’s Secret doesn’t go over double-D. Sandy, you’re at least a triple-D, aren’t you?”

Victoria wanted to cover her eyes when Sandra held the bra by the straps. “I haven’t been measured in a few years. This one looks like a C cup.” She looked from the bra to Victoria’s chest as if to confirm her breast size.